when the summer came
by kkolmakov
Summary: John Thorington, an archaeologist, an uncle of two young Afghanistan veterans, anger management issues, mother living in Brazil. Wren Leary, a web designer, an orphan with the history of childhood abuse, photographic memory, a ginger. It is a love story of two people who come into the relationships with their own trauma and the desire to build something meaningful. [ON HIATUS]
1. Chapter 1

_Previously…_

Wren Leary, a reclusive web designer with a C-PTSD caused by childhood abuse trauma is running high fever from a flu. After several hours of delirium she wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs in her bathroom.

John, stuck in her flat in a snowstorm, is an archaeologist and the colleague of Wren's flatmate's boyfriend.

They spend a night under the same duvet to stay warm. In the morning John leaves, offering Wren to go on a date in a month, when he comes back from the excavations.

Wren, her childhood abuse making her unwilling to have any social contact, does not take any steps to start relationships with John.

A month and a half later she receives a phone call from him and the sequence of their dates starts. Physical contact is impossible for Wren, her psychological trauma does not allow her to trust or like John.

With time they start building connection and openness between them, Wren goes for more complicated therapy, John opens up to her about his previous anger management problems, she meets his sister and two nephews.

Wren's previous story was a story of healing and self-discovery.

This story is about the hard work and happiness that are living with the person you love every day…

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_when the summer came _is a sequel to

**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

Release date on Amazon:

July 15, 2015

Kindle and Paper!

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I will keep in mind that some of you have not read the first story, the sequel will be written so that you can enjoy it even without it.

Thank you.

Love you all ardently,

kkolmakov


	2. Chapter 2

You are sitting in the corner of your bedroom, your knees pulled to your chin, eyes closed, you are taking deep breaths, concentrating on the sensation of air flowing through your throat and nose. It is thirty six past noon, you have the perfect perception of time, and at the moment it is bothering you. Over the years you have learnt to keep the silent ticking you perceive time through at the back of your mind, but your anxiety level is higher today, and you are struggling.

Your phone beeps, and you try to ignore it, but you know you cannot. You feel irritation rising, you know you will get up and crawl to it, why are you still sitting and pretending you can avoid it? You know there is a white light blinking under the screen. You grit your teeth, make yourself take five breaths in, feel frustrated that number three was sloppy, and open your eyes.

_Please, don't forget to eat lunch. But don't touch my dumplings :) Love you. _

It is John. The dumplings bit that he added at the end is supposed to neutralise the overbearing nature of his message. Depending on the day you sometimes feel like cuddling him, purring and nuzzling him for taking care of you, some days you get angry and feel he is treating you like a child or a mentally ill person. You get defensive often, you do have an eating disorder, but you are better these days. You are less obsessed with the colours and texture of your food, in the last six months you even started cooking, previously you wouldn't have been able to touch raw meat or some vegetables, meanwhile now you have just finished another course of Italian cooking classes. You know now you don't particularly like Italian, your stomach is still not happy with tomatoes.

The problem is not the amount of food or how you react on being reminded to eat, it is the intrusive desire to summarise your issues and progress. Your OCD kicks in, and every time John mentions eating or not eating you feel the urge to remind him month by month of the progress you made. And then he will listen attentively and patiently, and you will get angry, because he doesn't have to be such a saint.

On the other hand, maybe he just wants his dumplings for dinner. He is coming after work today, and they are from his favourite Korean restaurant. Unlike you John loves food, but John is a physical being in general. He likes to eat, to sleep, to swim, while for you it's a chore and part of your therapy, John likes to cook, warm up food, do dishes, read, take baths, make love. He does like to make love. You tell yourself you should concentrate on it, it will distract you from your anxiety, but you are too wound up. Arousal is incompatible with fear, and you are not scared, but you would give your anxiety 60/100. That is a lot, you haven't had that much in months.

There is a reason for your state, and you could see by John's face last night that he wanted to offer to stay with you today. He can do it, it's the last day of them wrapping up the exhibition, the items have been moved already, pretty much he is going to be sitting in his temporary office all day today, doodling mushrooms on some scrap paper. John always doodles mushrooms when he is bored or pensive. It's a one movement doodle, a skinny leg, curved to the right, and then a flamboyant swoosh of pen or pencil, and the mushroom has a hat. Sometimes he draws it on your skin with the tip of his finger.

You told him you would be fine, but he is right though, you haven't eaten anything today. That is why it is so difficult right now. You bring your mind onto a simple task of warming up leftovers. He stayed for dinner last night, you ordered Chinese, you still have some zha jiang mian left, you just need to dump some rice in a bowl, get the vegetables from a container, and warm it all up.

There is John's photo on the fridge. It is held by a magnet from Toronto with CN Tower on it. Thea's, your flatmate's boyfriend brought it from his last trip. Thea and Jimmy are still together, although they have broken up three times in the last two months. You place no judgement on other people's relationships, you just empathize Thea. You can tentatively assume that it is difficult for her because she has previously prefered serial monogamy, mostly consisting of one offs. Jimmy, whom you've met many times by now, is externally very light, very easy to talk to, loud, cheerful, you share Irish background, according to John Jimmy is sometimes sloppy in his work, tends to be often late, and the most personal piece of information you know about him is that he really wants to have kids. He has many nieces and nephews whose photos he shows ten minutes into a conversation with anybody. You think he deeply loves Thea. You are not sure what makes her stay with him, she seems anxious and irritated more often than not in these relationships.

You brush the tip of your finger along John's nose on the photo. You love everything about his face, the long nose, the bright blue eyes, the thick black beard. He has a soft line of lips, thick black eyebrows, and very long fluffy lashes that he batters asking if you feel the turbulence. This somehow makes him guffaw and his eyes squint, while every single time you give him a pointed sarcastic look from under a lifted brow for that. He has a strange sense of humour that you adore.

You sit down, arrange the food on the table, and concentrate on the movements of your jaw and the taste and smell. Nausea that you were not aware of subsides, and you take an easier breath in.

The reason why you have John's dumplings in your fridge is that he can't leave anything in his flat. The reason why he is coming tonight and stays over, why his suitcase is by your entrance door, you can see its corner from the chair you are sitting on, and why your own, brand new suitcase is open on your bed is that tomorrow at six o'clock in the morning you have to be in the airport to catch your flight to Brazil.

You are going for three week vacation, among other things you are going to meet John's mum. John tends to repeat again and again that the two of you don't have to stay with her and her latest husband, you can find a nice room in a hotel. It only makes you more anxious, which you have told him repeatedly. Not having a strict itinerary for your first ever trip abroad is an emotional torture. You have booked twice as many sessions with your therapist in the last six weeks, but you still have had two meltdowns since then.

You asked John to give you time, and yesterday was the first evening you spent together in three weeks. You needed to process the trip. You have never left the city, except for a few small trips with Thea, and those times staying in a B'n'B you knew the schedule and the location so well before the trip that Thea laughed that you didn't even have to go since you had already made the trip in your head.

Tomorrow it will be your first plane flight, your first customs, your first trip anywhere with John, you have spent nights together in each other's flats but you have never been confined together without any ability to avoid each other. You are also meeting his mum, you are going to a country with beaches, you can't undress in public, you have scars from childhood abuse.

You are still going, and you are probably surprised by it more than anybody. You have been buying clothes for the last two months, since the trip was tentatively planned, you did research on sunscreens, you are pale and have freckles. You have never spent much time outdoors before. This past summer was the first one when you went on a picnic. You smile thinking about it. The two of you spent the whole day kissing on an iconic picnic blanket. It was so ridiculous that during the drive back John was demanding you to give some horrible oath that no one would ever find out that you spent the day behaving like randy adolescents. He is always the first to wistfully sigh and say, "Remember that picnic..."

You go back to your room and stare into your almost fully packed suitcase. You are going to Brazil tomorrow. And then you remember about the hat you bought and panic that you left it in John's flat. You didn't, and now you need to find the hat box.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The editing process for **_**convince me the winter is over **_**is almost complete, and it inspired me to return to this story.**

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**See Chapter 1 for summary of **_**convince me winter is over**_**, the prequel to this story (soon available for pre-order on Amazon, see the author's note after this chapter).**

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It is seven sharp, and you are sitting under your desk. Your teeth are gritted, hands fisted, and each breath is shaking on the exhale. There is disgusting pressure in your nape, as if tendons in your neck are under electric current.

The fact that you can come up with poetic comparison for the physical expression of your anxiety is already progress. You were completely incapable of using metaphors just a few months ago. Your mind would shut itself, not allowing your imagination roam. Imagination would lead to memories, memories led to flashbacks, and you just couldn't afford them.

Right now all you can think about is that John has left work, he will take a cab and will be here in between thirty and thirty six minutes, unless there is traffic, or he is engaged and late, or hundreds other possibilities. Your mind is shuffling through scenarios, with the speed with an iPod, and you just can't take a measured breath in.

You have returned to your baseline three times today. You did breathing exercises, you saw Dr. Coutts yesterday, you felt you were ready. Right now your anxiety is 60/100. That is too much. Your suitcase is packed, but you are not sure you will need it. At the moment the trip to Brazil seems as unrealistic as a trip to the Moon.

You can't even come from under your desk, you will not be able to take a cab in five o'clock in the morning to go to the airport. The rest of the trip, including your first air travel, customs and so on, isn't something you can even try to imagine. You close your eyes and try to ground yourself. Thirty five minutes pass.

The buzzer goes off, you need to get up and let John in. You are not sure you can. You have also left your mobile in the bathroom, and you are starting to think it was at least partially intentional. It will start ringing soon, but you usually put it on silent.

Otherwise you would be checking it all the time, it is called social media anxiety. Twitter, you follow but don't tweet, Tumblr, Goodreads, Wattpad, Pinterest, you feel more comfortable there than in real life of course. The anonymity and the simple exit strategy are easy on your nerves. But you have to make sure not to have your phone in your pocket at all times, otherwise you would always be staring into the screen.

The only media you do not go to is Deviantart. Since you started dating John, you are tentatively taking photos outside your work. Very rarely people so far, and you haven't managed to negotiate with yourself to take his photo, but you do more and more. And looking at other people's work give you so much anxiety that you feel like donating your camera and deleting all your files. Dr. Coutts suggested taking it slow. You of course used it as an excuse to hide from it. Your creativity is your current most prominent source of anxiety, but you allow yourself to take some time off from worrying about it. You still have to survive a trip to Brazil first.

You are still capable at this stage to weigh the consequences of you giving in to your anxiety and not opening door for him versus making yourself get up, buzzing him up and facing him. He will try again, then will ring you on your mobile, try the buzzer again. Then he will give it a thought. It's John, everything is grounded, measured, present in the moment with him. He will not allow himself to panic, maybe will take a few deep breaths in, he is brilliant in self-regulating, and then he will call your roommate and best friend, Thea. She is at her boyfriend's today, and judging by how dischuffed she was looked when heading there, she will only be happy to escape and come here to help John out. You honestly cannot handle another person right now.

You give yourself three deep breaths, and then you jerkily get up and plod to the door. You press the button and can hear the door open on the ground floor.

There is a certain musicality to John's steps. They are confident, it's almost a strut, beautiful fluid motions. Nowadays when Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch are the most dreamy ones, John's build could be perceived too heavy. The shoulders are very wide, arms massive, covered in thick black hair, just like his legs and especially furry chest, he is almost too heavy. He is almost too physical. You are still astonished sometimes that out of all people you ended up with him. He is loudly masculine, very libidinous and just, plainly put, large. When the two of you shag all this mass is looming over you, and though not too often you do have panicky moments. He is very good at noticing them and letting you take charge, but it still doesn't change the fact that being a twenty six year old virgin and a childhood abuse survivour you ended up losing your virginity to a tank.

Suddenly you are uncomfortable with him coming to your place, although yesterday you two had dinner and decided that it made more sense to leave to the airport from here. You do not mind John staying over, although you do spend more nights at his place. On average 8.9 night out of 10 , your brain quickly supplies you with statistics.

It is easier at his place. It feels as if it all started there, you still remember that day on his sofa, or the first few excruciating evenings in his kitchen. Everything was so painful, although now the rush of adrenaline from those memories is dull, there is still ache. You know you should think back at them with the sense of accomplishment, you survived that, you made it through, and half of the time you can. Half of the time it is like you go through the same mortifying discomfort again. You remind yourself Winter is over, but your hands are still cold, from being in painful tight fists, and your throat is clenched.

You open the door, and you cannot lift your eyes from the floor. It is as if John's face is too much, and you are staring at his cognac coloured ankle boots.

"I don't want to go to Brazil." Your voice is hardly audible, but it's not a question.

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Find and follow me on Twitter: **katyakolmakov**

Hashtag for "convince me the winter is over" is #convincemewinter

Let's make it happen, my duckies!

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I'm starting the writing blog: **kolmakov dot ca.**

I will be describing my writing process, _Me Without You_ will soon be turned into an independent novel, and it will be fun creating my own fantasy world. Come on this journey with me!

I will show my oak and wren tattoos, will gladly take prompts and will just be happy to meet you, my darlings!

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**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

**(a novel inspired by my story on fanfiction dot net,**

**summary in my profile)**

Release date on Amazon:

July 15, 2015

Available for pre-order!

If you pre-ordered the book, fill in the form on my blog (**kolmakov dot ca**) to receive an exclusive 1000+ word piece written based on your specifications!

There will be **giveaways** on **Goodreads** and **Amazon**!

I'll keep you posted!


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